


If I told you solitude fits me like a glove would you let me out?

by rokklagio



Series: After Hours [4]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Even's POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9589787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokklagio/pseuds/rokklagio
Summary: Even had always been better than Isak when it came to walls. He would put up a thick, impenetrable layer between the two of them and he would have the final word over anything, because Isak was better off without him. He did it so many times.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It may seem like a filler or a rather short chapter but I chose to write this one from Even's point of view because it reveals some relevant sides to Isak's character one may not notice since the series had been mostly from his POV. We're getting closer to a resolution though! Yay! :)
> 
> continuation to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9425330)

 

 

“You told me you stopped taking medications when we last heard from each other. For how long, exactly?”

“For about two months, I think. I was meant to return sooner but I had lost my passport, so I had to wait for the embassy to issue a new one.”

Dr. Solberg raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

The sun shone over her face and her left shoulder, giving the impression it was scorching hot outside. Even was covered in layer of clothing from head to toe instead, not used anymore to the Norwegian cold. She took notes as Even spoke and stared at him with poorly conceived suspicion, which was still more than his old psychiatrist used to do when he was younger, all smiles and blank expressions. Dr. Solberg, however, never seemed to be impressed by what Even told her: she always looked like she thought he was an irresponsible idiot. But she was the only psychiatrist he could get assigned to without checking in a private clinic, so he didn’t complain.

“You told me you were under some alternative medications?” she asked, adjusting the glasses on her pointy nose and looking vaguely through her papers. Even nodded.

“Yes. All natural. No side-effects.”

She looked up and narrowed her eyes. “Are we talking drugs?”

Even diverted his gaze onto the library behind her back. “Yes, but I know I’m not supposed to smoke, so I stopped after a while.”

“So you came here. Do you plan to stay in Oslo for a longer period, or are you leaving again?”

He didn’t answer right away. He shifted in the armchair and bit the inside of his mouth.

“I… I’m going back to Nepal. Perhaps permanently. That was the plan.”

She seemed to elaborate his answer: she bit her lip and then lunged forward to start writing on her notebook. Surprisingly enough, her writing was clear enough for Even to read a phone number stand out on the white paper.

“This is the number of a colleague that works in Kathmandu,” she explained, “he’s Nepalese and speaks English. I have already talked to him about you and he’s willing to take you. The therapy won’t change much, he may add Valproate to your daily dosage of Lithium but this is something he’ll have to decide after a complete examination.”

“Okay.” He moved to take her note, but she held it back.

“If,” she emphasised, “you mean to stay in Nepal _permanently_.” She mocked him in the same tone, clearly dubious of Even’s plans. He rolled his eyes.

“Do you think I’m lying?”

“Even, I don’t think you’re lying.” She was using his first name, clearly tired of his bullshit. “but your medical history is anything but coherent, and you never seem to be in the same place for long. I know you had the same people following you since you were 15, and I wish I could do the same without referring you to some specialist, but I really need to know what your plans are. Do you really intend to reside in Nepal?”

“I just—,” he almost choked on his words because he knew that his ideas were insane and unrealistic, but he needed Dr. Solberg to trust him or his work was going to suffer from it. He needed to be considered well enough to travel alone, so he couldn’t play games with her. He needed to be honest.

“There’s nothing holding me back here, beside my health. I’m probably going to stay in Kathmandu for another year so I just want to—,” he gestured around him.

“Cut ties with Oslo. I get it,” she nodded thoughtfully, and he could see her dissenting expression mutate in something softer, as if she could understand his reasons now.

She now gave him her note with the phone number and a _Dr. Bishwakarma_ written on it.

He thanked her and folded the paper in the pocket of his jeans. As he walked out of the office he realised he had crossed almost everything off his mental list. He could finally begin the post-production; he discussed selling his parents’ old apartment with the estate agents; he could continue his therapy elsewhere. There was one thing left, the hardest thing to deal with. He could have closed it days before, but he wasn’t prepared for it when it came to him.

A female voice echoed in the half-crowded ambulatory.

“Isak! Can you help me with this?”

 

 

It was four years before, and it was New Year’s Eve. Even remembered that night with incredible precision: he was in Berlin with his latest film crew, all of them celebrating the wrapping of their final project. And the new year.

They had succeeded in what had seemed to be a colossal, dangerous challenge: they snuck inside the Berghain without paying any ridiculous €700 ticket, all thanks to their lightning guy who happened to work in that place too. Who could have said no? He was giving his back to the crowd on the main stage, looking through the huge windows and enjoying the compulsive show of fireworks exploding right above the buildings in Kreuzberg. The sky completely lighted up when the clock hit midnight, and for a moment it looked as if the city was basking in daylight. He wasn’t really enjoying himself—he wasn’t sure whether it was the depression or just himself—but he smiled to the rest of his crew nonetheless: he knew half of them well because they graduated together, as for the rest… they couldn’t even speak the same language, but it didn’t matter. They hugged him and offered him a champagne bottle to drink from. Even smiled as he declined, saying he was smoking anyway. He was on medications, but they didn’t need to know.

“Hallo.”

He turned around: a girl with ginger hair swayed her way over to him, with an empty glass hanging from her fingers and her round face reflecting the purple strobe lights above her.

“Hey,” he answered back.

“ _Sprichst du Deutsch_? Or is English fine?”

“English please,” he answered with a smile, “I mean, I had German in high school but I sucked.”

She laughed. “Okay. So, midnight has just passed, aren’t you celebrating?”

“I don’t really feel like—”

His phone started vibrating in his pocket. He took it out and saw that they were all notifications from people who were wishing him happy New Year. When he swiped them all out, Isak’s face came out clear and smiling. He took that picture on Isak’s 19th birthday and he saved it as his phone background to feel closer to him when they were apart. Then they broke up. Then Even kept it out of habit.

“Is he someone special?” the girl asked, clearly tiptoeing to take a peek at his phone.

“Yeah, he—” he didn’t know whether to tell about his private life to a stranger, “he is.”

“Is he… your boyfriend?”

“He was.”

She looked at him with a serious concern before Even could realise how it sounded.

“We—We broke up. He is fine, it’s just…” _I can’t stop thinking about him and I wish we never did_ , “my phone is really old and now it’s stuck and I can’t change it.”

“Oh.” She bit her lips. “That must hurt. I mean, seeing your ex every time you need to take a call.”

 _Or flying back to Oslo every now and then because you don’t want to let him go_.

“It’s okay. It desensitizes you from the memory of it.” _Or makes it stronger_.

“Have you been together for a long time?”

“Three years, actually.” And two other years he spent fighting the urge to ask Isak to take him back. Two years where he had to fight his brain from coming up with weird, grand ideas. _Go to his house! Ask him to marry you! Leave together! Tell him you’re the greatest thing that could ever happen to him! Make him forget you’re like this!_ Whenever he felt these voices creep inside his brain he would take his medications and lock himself somewhere else, where he could use his work as a perfect, reasonable excuse. He would last for about six months, perhaps even a whole year, but there he was back again: searching for Isak among the crowd, even though Isak was probably better off without him.

“Okay I’m just gonna be honest about my intentions,” the girl interrupted his thoughts, “I came here thinking I had a chance to take you to my place tonight, but you’re here moping over your ex- _boy_ friend.”

Even laughed whole-heartedly. “Excuse me! It doesn’t mean anything, though. You should know, especially if you live in Berlin.”

Her face seemed to light up with hope.

“Are you saying you like girls too?”

“I had a girlfriend before him, you know.”

“So… do I actually have a chance?”

Even’s smile fell. He realised he was being flirty and a rush of guilt suddenly followed. He remembered when he used to do it just to annoy and provoke Isak, who clearly wasn’t comfortable with Even’s bisexuality, but he never considered flirting with another girl. Not after Sonja. _Not after Isak_.

“I don’t even know your name,” he told her simply, sounding like some 18th century maiden.

She leaned in to tell him her name and they stayed close for a while, barely a few inches apart because the music was getting louder. The worst thing was: he could _feel_ the heat radiate from her body. She was beautiful and funny, and he knew he would have made a move already if he was younger, if he wasn’t in his current mind state. He looked at her, he pondered, but he felt staring at a picture with no dimension. He realised what an embarrassment he was: he couldn’t stop thinking about Isak, even in moments like these, even with a pretty, smart girl by his side, miles and miles away from Oslo. Even when he knew perfectly well he _had_ to move on, for his and Isak’s sake.

She was laughing to a joke Even told and, when she raised her eyes, she noticed he was staring at her. He was embarrassed, but he didn’t look away: he simply smiled, and she smiled back shyly. He could see out of the corner of his eyes that she got closer. She silently rose on her toes.

_Kiss her. Kiss her and you’ll no longer be miserable._

He felt the phone starting to vibrate in his hand and looked down on impulse: Isak’s name was lighting up the screen.

He took instinctively some steps back and opened the message, forgetting briefly about the girl. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Isak's name on his phone, except for the times he stared at his contacts, pondering over the thought of calling him in the middle of the night.  


_Isak (mobile)_  

_godt nyt år savner degg_

 

 _happy nev year miss youu_. He held his breath as he read the message over and over and over.

“What does it say?” he heard the girl ask, but her voice was distant, perhaps galaxies away.

“Nothing. Just some drunk rambling. I really need to go,” he answered mechanically.

“Where are you going? You’re going to be stuck in the traffic. It’s hell out there,” she warned him.

He continued walking.

 

 

Even had always been better than Isak when it came to walls. He would put up a thick, impenetrable layer between the two of them and he would have the final word over anything, because Isak was better off without him. He did it so many times. If he stopped existing, Isak would finally get the opportunity to live a normal life, with someone normal. He knew this; he was sure of it. He did it for months, he prepared for years. He detached himself from his past with him, from his own feelings. When he saw Isak’s new boyfriend he knew that was the final cue to let him go. It was now or never. But Isak was now metres away from him, in the last place Even thought he could find him. He was wearing the long white coat Dr. Solberg also had, and he was looking in Even’s direction with wide eyes.

He couldn’t do this. It wasn’t the right time, _it shouldn’t be now_.

“Even!” he heard Isak yell, but he was already walking out of the building.


End file.
